The Orc Wife

by S. J. Sanders

  "I don’t care if it takes flooding the floor—you will never leave the door unbolted again. It is not safe. Do a stunt like that again and not only will I redden your hide, but I will make sure you pass the rest of the month checking traps with me.”

  I shudder. That’s enough to convince me.

  “All right, I am sorry. You’re right. I should have thought of that. So, did you get anything?” I asked, determined to change the subject away from my inability to listen to simple instructions. I stand up, his eyes riveted to the water sluicing off my body as I step out of the rapidly cooling water and begin to dry myself with a thick cloth.

  Breaking his attention away from the pass of the towel down my body, he grunts in affirmation, ever my conversationalist, and plods over to the fire with the bag. He pulls out something fluffy, about the size of a large rabbit. My eyes widen in horror as he sets to work stripping off the soft fur.

  “Wait, we’re eating that adorable fluffy thing?!”

  He pauses in his work and his brow furrows in confusion.

  “Yes, of course. It is a vorki. There is not much meat, but it should be filling enough for us tonight. Why wouldn’t we eat it?”

  “Why? Because it’s so precious and furry… and you killed it for dinner. I can’t eat that!” I say, my voice rising in horror.

  Orgath must have been gifted with the patience of a saint because he just sighs at me and goes back to work.

  “You will eat it,” is all he says.

  Not likely.

  ***

  Orgath

  Females are strange creatures. Even among orcs, they get sentimental about the most particular things. I am preparing a meal of fresh meat rather than the dried and smoked stores of the beasts I hunted Ov’Ge, and yet she is acting like I killed and am presenting her pet for her to eat.

  “Vorki are not pets,” I inform her sternly. I will not have her refusing nutrition just because she has a soft heart for the beasts.

  I make quick work of skinning the vorki and set the hide aside to be cured. It will make a good pair of gloves for Sammi when winter returns. With a practiced hand, I rub butter and herbs over the flesh and spit the meat over the fire. I look at the meager offerings for our evening meal and for the first time I consider getting a wood stove for Sammi. It is not an indulgence I ever felt necessary for my own comfort, but she may enjoy the greater variance in dishes that a stove could be used to cook. Erra can teach her how to make a meat pie perhaps; her meat pies are renown through the clan. It is quite probable that her skill is what encouraged Orgul to consider mating with her.

  Besides, if we ever have young, she may find having a stove to be helpful. I shake my head and scold myself for thinking of such things so soon. Although even among orcs such things can happen unplanned between a brief pairing, orcs as a general rule do not breed quickly. It is unlikely that my seed would’ve taken root in her. Yet my heart warms at the idea of Sammi’s body swelling with our young, and the images of a half-orc babe rolling around on a fur in front of the fire.

  I huff at myself. I am turning sentimental too.

  Ethiel pushes his way in and stretches out by the fire, his ear turned toward the sizzling food. Sammi leans into him, rubbing at his neck and jaw, making the large beast purr. For a moment I feel jealous of the delfass. I mutter that I am stepping out for a moment and lift the tub of water easily. I carry it outside and empty it far from the cottage, where it won’t make things overly muddy, before storing it in its accustomed place in the small barn where I’ve spent the last few days constructing a low table for this night.

  The table is low, at a comfortable height for us to sit around it on cushions and furs. I take a moment to look it over with pride. It may very well be the finest thing I’ve made with my own hands. I’d spent hours last night alone, rubbing the wood with a rough sanding stone. There is not a scratch or rough spot that I can see anywhere along the surface. With a pleased grin, I lift the table up and set it on my shoulder to carry it back to the cottage.

  Sammi’s eyebrows raise when I come through the door, but her face lights up with a smile when she sees the table. She gently pushes Ethiel’s head to the side so that she can climb to her feet and hover at my side as I carefully set the table in the center of the room.

  “Orgath, this is just beautiful! Did you make it?”

  “I did. It is a gift for you.”

  “Really? You made it for me?” Her smile brightens momentarily before her face crumbles. “You’re spending time out there doing this for me and I act like a shrew when you try to do something as simple as feed me. I must be the worst house guest in history.”

  I chuckle. “You are not a house guest. This is your home too. In any case, I do not mind if you complain. If you were not always speaking your mind, I would think something is wrong with you or that you were sick.”

  Sammi laughs, a loud and beautiful rolling sound. That is something I adore of this little human. She never attempts to restrain her laughter. She just lets it flow out of her naturally with her heart attached to it.

  Taking her hand, I sit her facing the fire in our hearth.

  “Stay, I will be back,” I tell her and go back to our bedroom. Everything is ours now as far as I am concerned. Our home, our room, our bed. Sammi is mine as much as I am assuredly hers. I would do anything for her.

  My heart thuds in my chest as I remove the small carved box that has been passed down through my family just for this occasion. I pray and ask my father to be with me and give me strength, as he must have done the night when he gave it to my mother.

  Thinking of her, my hand goes up to caress the gold pendant hanging from the hoop at my ear, my only true last memento of my mother. I pause so that I might pray to her spirit that she helps Sammi be receptive to this night. Opening the box, I set the gift on the bed of fur inside and close it once more with a final entreaty to my ancestors collectively to bestow their kindness and blessings upon us.

  I return to the room with the small box and Sammi is watching me curiously. I set the box on the far end of the table away from her and remove the roasted vorki from the spit to set it on the platter. This I set on the table, along with cups of mead and thick bread, and sit down beside her.

  Very carefully, I tear meat from the bones and extend the portion to her lips for the first part of the ritual. She watches me curiously, a brow arching, before parting her lips to take the food from my fingers. Her lips and tongue caress my fingertips erotically and I try not to moan from the sensation of it.

  I then take up a cup of mead and raise it to her lips in the second gesture. As if we are playing a game, she smiles and leans forward to sip from it without hesitation. She may think we are playing a game, but if we are, then I am playing for the ultimate prize.

  Now that she has drank from my hand, I set the cup in front of her and reach finally for the box. By offering food and drink, I have solidified my commitment to provide for her and any of our young, to cherish the bloodbond that is growing between us day by day, but now this is the offering of my heart for her to accept and reject.

  I take her small hand in mine and turn the palm over to set the box in her grasp and curl her fingers around it. She looks at it with interest and places it on the table in front of her. Her fingers lift the lid and stares down inside. Something inscrutable crosses her face but then she smiles, removing the necklace gleaming with red and green gemstones and the best claws and bones from my hunts.

  A perfect collar for the most perfect mate.

  ***

  Sammi

  Orgath has been acting strange all week, being secretive and disappearing for odd hours, and now that I see it coming together, I’m blown away by how sweet he is. It makes me feel terrible for the way I acted while he took the effort to make a nice meal for us. Not to mention that the vorki does actually taste pretty good if I can forget how cute it looked. First the table and now this gift.

  At first, I’m not sure what to think of
the gift. It’s almost gruesome with what appears to be bones, teeth, and claws chained together with beautiful gemstones. But then I remember seeing Erra wearing something similar but nowhere near as fine in my estimation and I’m immediately touched, certain that Orgath made this for me with his own hands as well.

  I beam up at him and clasp it around my neck, marveling at the gentle weight. It’s not uncomfortable at all, and if I’m not mistaken, it looks like he went through pains to make sure the sharp edges were all blunted and smoothed. It is kind of barbaric, but still a perfect gift. I don’t think I’ve ever had a man go through so much effort to do something so sweet for me. I swear right there that I will never take it off.

  “Orgath, it’s beautiful. Thank you!” I say as I lean in to kiss him.

  Orgath’s lips part under mine and he eagerly plunders my mouth. Any shyness or hesitation he’d been exhibiting during our meal disappears like a morning fog melting under a midday sun. His arms solidly draw me against him until I am straddling his lap, our mouths meeting repeatedly with swiftly building passion.

  His large fingers grip my hips hard, the claws lightly scraping my skin and suddenly he’s yanking my red tunic up and over my head with one hand as his other hand slides between us to pull open the lacings on his breeches. He seems almost feverish in his intensity. His mouth captures the soft skin of my neck in a small stinging bite before he groans low against my throat.

  “Sammi, please, you must do this. Take me inside you and welcome my body within yours.”

  I pause, uncertain. Orgath has never surrendered control like that to me before. It just seems so… strange. I’m still deciding how I want to go about this when his fingers dip to toy with the flesh between my legs, and his thick tongue swirls around my nipple, first my right then the left. I choke on a breath, gripping his cock hard in my hand. It is like stone encased in flesh as I guide his thick member to my slit.

  I sink slowly upon him, both of us groaning in pleasure at the pressure of his cock stretching my pussy. Rocking my hips gently, I become used to his size, and it doesn’t take long before his fingers tighten to an almost bruising intensity as he lifts and drops me on his cock. It’s just shy of brutal—but oh, how I love it.

  I sink my teeth into his shoulder, eliciting a deep growl, and suddenly I’m dropped back onto the table, laid out before my orc. His mouth attacks my breasts again with long licks and deep sucking pulls as his cock rams into me. My flesh shudders with each violent thrust that my pussy swallows with relish. I can barely breathe I’m panting so hard. The micro-orgasms that began to tease me when I was riding him are now full-strength ripples sending me over the edge repeatedly. I can do nothing more than cry out Orgath’s name as my pleasure claims me in its unceasing grip.

  When I feel Orgath swell inside of me, I tighten like a fist around him, shooting off like a falling star when he roars loudly and his hot seed explodes within me. His hips slam against me as he pumps into me, and I writhe beneath him, my mind reduced to nothing more than instinctual responses.

  All I know is that I need. I want.

  I feel him all the way inside of me, and something deep within me responds, gathers and reaches forth and tethers to him. With the last thread of my awareness I hear his triumphant bellow and the whisper of his voice. “It is the bloodbond.”

  Chapter 11

  Orgath

  I wake with my wife in my arms and there is no better feeling than the caress of her spirit at the other end of our bloodbond as she slumbers deeply. I smile contently and draw her small body close to my chest. Our passion last night had been unquenchable. Despite her falling into exhaustion after our first bonded mating, we woke three other times over the course of the night to join our bodies and hearts, solidifying our bond deeper into our beings.

  Gently, I wrap my massive hand against her small pink one and smile at how tiny it appears. She looks so sweet and delicate in her slumber, concealing well her sharp tongue and fierce spirit that I so adore. I bring her hand up and brush my lips against the back of her it before laying it against her belly. It stays there for only a minute before she flips over to face me and her arms lands heavily, striking my jaw. I snort in surprise and watch her nose wrinkle into a small scowl before smoothing out again without waking.

  There is nothing I want more than to linger in bed with her until she awakes, but there are things to do before we travel to the village for another supply run in the near future. Seeing how word has traveled among the clan and to the nearest neighboring elves, Sammi will be going without a disguise and I am nervous about this. I haven’t told her yet, and I do not know if she will welcome it or be afraid.

  Worse, without the clan tattoos, I am uncertain how many of my people will respect her as one of us. I may be risking everything if I take her unmarked into the village where Lorf has sewn his venom. I am tempted to just continue to keep her well-guarded within our little cottage, but Sammi and Irhindral are both correct. I can’t keep her hidden here forever. Not only will I not be able to protect her when I need to travel, but eventually she will begin to suffer from the lack of companionship from other females, even if she doesn’t feel the bite of it now. I cannot do that to my wife. She needs to be able to move freely as any other wife in the clan.

  These are the concerns that have me waking at this early hour. I decided last night that today I would go to retrieve the inker. This way, instead of accompanying me in a poor disguise, I will prepare for her to arrive in the village with the full dignity of her station as my wife. I cannot give her the tattoos myself, so I will need to bring the inker to my cottage. I rouse my mate, and she mumbles incoherent words in her sleep as she blinks up at me.

  “Is something wrong, Orgath?” she whispers.

  “Everything is fine my heart. I need to leave our home for a short time, so I need you to wake and bolt the door behind me.”

  She yawns and snuggles into my chest, but she scrubs at an eye attempting to further rouse herself. “Where are you heading so early?”

  “To fetch the inker from the village. We need her to give you the tattoos of the clan. It will declare to everyone that you are one of us and worthy of our protection. Ultimately, it is for your safety and would do much for my peace of mind when we must be among other orcs.”

  “Hmm, sounds painful,” she mumbles, “but that’s fine. A tattoo is nothing in the grand scheme of things.”

  I chuckle and press a kiss to her forehead, earning a sleepy giggle. “That’s the spirit, my delfass-ki.”

  I slip out of bed and pull on my breeches and tunic while she stumbles out from beneath the furs and wraps a thick blanket around her shoulders. Her curls stand at odd angles away from her face, presenting me with a charming image. I gently try to smooth the wildest of curls and she gives me a sleepy smile in response.

  “Once you bolt the door, go back to bed, my love,” I whisper as I press my lips along her jaw. She shivers in reaction and I know it would be easy to tumble back into bed and enjoy the sweet arms of my wife once more. Regretfully, I pull away and she follows me out to the common room, cursing briefly when she misjudges her step and strikes the side of her foot against the edge of the wall. I wince but she doesn’t complain, so I say nothing.

  I lean forward and kiss her once more at the door, and she wakens enough to respond with her normal range of enthusiasm, sparking the fire of desire between us. I ruthlessly ignore the pull on the bloodbond that demands that I join with her and settle instead for hugging her close before gently setting her aside. Ethiel makes a noise of complaint as I bark a command to him but stretches by the banked fire and slinks out the door ahead of me.

  It takes me little time to pull the tack from the barn and saddle Ethiel, and within minutes he is bounding through the grass heading toward the village. I am thankful that the inker lives at the edge of the village. She is an elder female who was, like her mother and the other females of her line, trained in the traditions and rituals of ceremonial inking. I rec
all that she has her granddaughter living with her now as her apprentice as I pull up to the humble dwelling and see a girl no more than fourteen years of age throw open the door with obvious curiosity.

  The inker steps briskly behind her grandchild, spry still despite her age as orcs tend to be, and her face wrinkles with a wide smile.

  “Orgath,” she croaks, “I was wondering when I’d be seeing you come to my home.” She shakes a chiding finger at me. “With a wife now I hear, it is about time you seek me out for her clan tattoos.”

  I embrace my aunt in a tight hug, her hand playfully swatting me as she chuckles. “Let go of my aged bones, you great beast. We have work to do.”

  With a laugh, I release her so that she may go gather her supplies.

  “Your mother would be doing this herself if she were still among the living,” my aunt says as she begins to thump through various boxes as she packed her small satchel. “I know she was looking forward to this day, even though you were still a young male when she joined the ancestors. So now the privilege falls to me,” she says, packing a small metal box containing all of her needles.

  “I must tell you. She is more than my wife. She is my bloodbonded.”

  She pauses and raises her eyebrows at me. “You don’t say. Well, that is something special then. Do you have the mating jewels for her yet?”

  “Yes, Aunt, but it doesn’t appear she has the necessary piercing.”

  “Good, good,” she mutters. “I can do the piercing part myself. Some of the males have been going to that young fool who has set up shop in the village. Doesn’t have a lick of sense about how to do a proper piercing. Best if I do it.”

  I indulge her rant with humor. Morthi is a young male from another clan who learned the arts against the wishes of his female relations, since it goes against tradition to train males in such things. My aunt prefers the old ways best and is very vocal about it; still, even she cannot fault that the young male eases the burden off her for some of the more outlandish work that males of the clan like to have done, giving her the freedom to focus on ceremonial work that is the core of our inking traditions.